Death Dealer's Choice
by Ursula1
Summary: How Boba Fett scored the sensor jamming array. 3 Chpt tale of Fett making his bones in the bounty trade. Part of a series of early Fett tales: The Edge of Infamy. Some violence.
1. Chapter 1

Part of a series, 'The Edge of Infamy': tales of Boba Fett's early adventures building his name and making his bones in the trade.

**Death Dealer's Choice: Part I**

_Chaos._

Seeking its heart came Boba Fett.

_Destruction._

He took a blind corner blast rifle first and laid down suppressive fire.

_Death._

A volley of light arced from the blast rifle's abbreviated muzzle, clearing the passage of any pirates.

_Focus._

He stepped over the bodies of the dead. He did not stop to survey his work. He had an objective to complete. Nothing else mattered.

_Hunt._

The emergency lights were the only source of illumination. Thick clouds of acrid smoke from electrical fires and spent blaster rounds filled the halls. The once gaudily lit orbiting casino was lost to shadow and violence. The main security system was under assault from an override virus released by the marauding pirates.

Fett paused before the door leading to a back access corridor. The vidscreen of the lock flashed meaningless data. The door would not open. Like many others, this one was engaged in endless battle with the virus. He reviewed the layout of the casino previously committed to infallible memory. He required access to the network of repair corridors. It was the only way to bypass the main deck of the station and cut into the red level. He could gain entry through this door.

Boba Fett braced his rifle and fired off two rounds into the center point of the set of heavy synthisteel doors. In the hole of twisted, burnt metal he jammed a gloved hand. With strength and will, he forced one panel of the door back into an open position. Red security alert lights flashed, and multilingual warnings vibrated through the speakernet. That meant some systems were reverting to back networks, avoiding the virus. That would work against him. He made a quick survey of the interior and entered the maze.

Over distant explosions and the drone of prerecorded generic security warnings, his sensors detected the screams of the helpless ahead of him. His pace was brisk, but not for reaching those that screamed. For another. Who may or may not already be dead. Who could make or break his fortune.

He slowed at the foot of a ships ladder, then trod up the narrow rungs soft and silent. The screaming grew louder. The source was above and eighty five degrees to his right. He emerged one level up, surprising a boarding gang of four human male pirates. They were harassing a pair of human females, casino dealers judging by what remained of their clothing. None of the cluster, pirates or victims, noticed him. The crowd blocked his entrance to the next part of the selected route. He raised the rifle and dropped the pirates where they stood.

A powerful explosion rocked the station. He was thrown hard against one wall. Sparks showered around him and flames erupted from a tangle of wires. He pulled free of the mess and charged on. Time was fleeting. He calculated the distance to his destination, and refigured how many pirates were normally carried in the boarding vessels that he'd seen attack the station. The traumatized females continued their screams. They cowered and cringed, huddling together. They thought him another pirate. In a way, he was. He came to take something, or rather, someone, and he had to admit, no matter how carefully planned his words, it would involve some measure of force and coercion.

Boba Fett charged past the women, heading inexorably toward his quarry.

The fighting would be concentrated at the epicenter of the red level, where the majority or wealth and firepower of the casino was located. The bigger players would be clustered there: the ones who could afford private security forces of their own. Any real resistance would come from that sector, so reason would dictate application of the better portion of the boarding force in that location. He cranked up the blast level on the rifle. What he required was on red level.

He cut down another smaller passage, reserved for repair of internal circuit systems. It had a low ceiling of ducts, wires and conduits, and was barely wide enough for him at the shoulders. A fight in such closed quarters could be problematic, however, taking this route would cut precious seconds off his travel time. The sensors in his helm indicated a ten degree rise in temperature. The sounds of battle were distant, but growing with each one of his determined strides. Thirty five meters more and he would be just outside the back corridor to the main casino. Eight meters off the western exit of that den of vice would be his ground zero: The Paradise Lounge.

The sound of metal on metal registered loudly with his sensors. In an instant he spotted the culprit, a luma grenade. A second later it detonated with a brilliant flash designed to blind most opponents. Fett, protected by his visor, was unaffected. He fired several rounds into the tangle of ducts above, setting off more alarms. Then he waited. No bodies dropped from overhead. He frowned. He did not have time for games. He lowered his rifle and continued forward, knowing he presented a tempting target.

Three seconds later the prey to took the bait. The pirate dropped from above, a hand's length in front of Fett. The grubby little human male gave out an unintelligible screech as a war cry and slashed at Fett with a vibroaxe. Fett merely stepped sideways following the arc of the blade. It skittered across his armor, trailing sparks. The overreach of his opponent brought him right into Boba Fett's line of attack.

Fett grabbed a handful of greasy hair, immobilizing the criminal's head. "You're not even worth the energy of a blast."

The man's eyes went wide with fear as he realized the next step in the dance of inevitable death. Fett headbutted the man, full force, armor plated helm to unprotected skull. He heard bone split. Fett dropped the corpse. Blood oozed from the wound, tinged with grey matter. Satisfied the pirate could cause no further trouble, Fett moved on.

He covered the remaining distance at double time to make up for the delay, and broke out of the access passage into the deserted rear corridor that should lead directly to the main casino of Red Level. The noise was now deafening. Laser blasts, screams, curses, crashes, the chant of battle. The song of death.

He raised his rifle, and entered the cloud of smoke that comprised the corridor atmosphere. This smoke was red in hue, from a grenade, and obscured normal vision. He used infrared to guide him to the casino doors. Only one was left, and that hung by a single hinge. The interior was a black cavern of scorched metal and mangled bodies. Apparently, the pirates were not after credits alone. Such damage to saleable goods bespoke of other agendas beyond a simple raid. He walked calm through the land of new apocalypse and made for the western exit.

At the archway he held back, taking recon of the area while tuning into the finer sounds of dialogue coming from the external western passage. The hall was ill lit, most illumination coming from the volleys of laser fire. A waist high barricade was set up six meters down the hall. Ten pirates fired round after round into the once decorative circular opening of the Paradise Lounge. A staggering number of their own dead littered the floor, a macabre pathway leading directly to their poorly protected rear flank.

Laser cannon fire spit forth from the black maw of the lounge. The window of opportunity for scoring a hit, both in terms of timing and the security of the pirate's barricade, was phenomenally small. The shots were few, but delivered with inordinate precision. Two pirates fell instantly, both from well-aimed head shots that fried the top fifteen centimeters of exposed skull. The remaining pirates let loose with curses. In anger and bravado, one imbecile stood to retaliate and took a blast full in the chest. His body came flying back, and skidded a meter or two before bumping into one of his fallen brethren.

Beneath his visor, Fett smiled coldly. The prize lived.

"We need reinforcements," one pirate cried, his common heavily accented and guttural.

_No you don't_. Fett pulled a Merr-Sonn C-22 fragmentation grenade from his utility belt and hurled it down the corridor at the gathered pirates. Then he stepped back behind the wall.

Someone screamed "Grenade!"

Too late.

The explosion sprayed shrapnel in a ten meter radius. Fett heard it pelt the wall that provided him safety, while some flew through the arched opening. Then the air cleared. Now it was the pirate's turn to scream.

He pivoted on one foot, braced his legs wide in the western entry, and opened up on what remained of the pirate contingent. After eleven rounds with no return fire, he advanced into the gloom of the corridor, kicking the bodies out of his way. He didn't stop firing until he reached the barricade and determined for himself that all the criminals were permanently out of action.

Icy anticipation filled his veins. He had the upper hand. At last.

He looked long into the pitch black lounge. With infrared, he could make out the cooling bodies of the recently dead and the discarded bulk of the laser cannon. Nothing else. No other targets. He lowered his rifle and switched to low light display. Then he waited.

A lithe, lone figure emerged with a slow, measured step from the lounge. In one hand was a heavy blaster pistol, in the second, a vibroaxe. Neither were raised. But they could be. In an instant. He kept that foremost in his mind as he kicked down the barrier that separated them. It fell with a loud bang that echoed in the hall, sending up a cloud of debris. Fett kept forward movement until he stood toe to toe with the survivor.

For one long moment neither spoke as each took measure of the other. His bioscan indicated no alteration whatsoever in her vital signs. Her face showed no fear or any emotion that he could detect. Her strange gray eyes held him with a gaze that was direct, unfaltering and unreadable. After a moment a chilling smile spread across her full lips. It fascinated him that this was not so much a smile as it was a baring of fangs.

"So Boba Fett," spoke the woman known to the galaxy as Eris. "Is this a rescue or an abduction?"

"Neither." Another explosion shook the very ground beneath their feet. He held steady and caught her around her waist with his free arm as she pitched forward. "It's a renegotiation."

The cry of an approaching war band bounced off the walls, punctuated with the report of laser blasts. Eris stepped free of his hold, raised the heavy blaster pistol and took out four pirates in rapid succession as they crossed into corridor's opening. "You know my terms. They haven't changed."

"I have new terms. I think you'll find them quite acceptable."

She smiled, but this time it was sly. Her eyes flashed like silver shards of ice. "Like I said the last time we came to the table: I'm the only one who can supply what you're in the market for. That means I get to set the terms, you get to pay the price."

She had a point. But he had a better one.

"What price would you put on your life? Because currently, the value is dropping. And if you die, well, then it's worthless, isn't it?" He kept his limbs loose, his trigger finger ready. It was even odds she would take his offer, or, go for his throat. "Right now, I'm your ticket off this orbiting death sentence. I know you want out of here, Eris. You're crazy, but you're not stupid. Right now, I'm the only one who can supply what you're in the market for. That means I get to set the terms, and you get to pay the price."

Amidst the death, destruction and doom, on the losing end of a precious deal, she did what he did not expect. She laughed. Sharp and edged to be sure, but a laugh none the less. "Let me guess those terms: The maps of the Drutha City underground."

_Victory._ It tasted sweet and very much to his liking. He nodded. "That's part of the deal, yes."

"Part of the deal?" Her mellow voice was steady, a calm in a storm. If she was worried at all about the potential of what she'd face, it didn't show. The ability to hide her true emotions was only one of many skills that made her a rising player in the information and intrigue game, and made her therefore, valuable to him. "I can't wait to hear the rest."

"We'll discuss those terms when we reach hyperspace."

"I may say no. Then what? You dump me out of the airlock?"

He shrugged. Let her think what she would. "Maybe."

"Right. I didn't figure you for the hero type." She hooked the axe to her belt, checked the charge on the heavy pistol, then maxed the blast strength. "Lead on. I've got your back. On my honor and word, I promise not to kill you until we're off this wretched station. After that, all bets are off."

"We're heading for auxiliary bay twelve, by was of the repair passages."

He gave a quick run down of the escape route. Several seconds later they moved out. They made it to the access corridor unhampered. Since there was nothing to be gained in the burned out casino the fighting had moved closer to red level's vault area. Fett knew they'd be reasonably clear of significant force encounters until they hit the auxiliary port and its airlock. All other modes of entry and exit would, at this point in the boarding raid, be heavily guarded.

She paused briefly when they came to the corpse of the pirate who'd attempted ambush of Fett. "You?"

He nodded. "Who else?"

"You took a pretty serious risk coming after me," she said as they resumed movement.

"I told you in our earlier negotiation you are very valuable to me. That value only applies if you're alive. I was left with little choice."

She slowed, stepping over the bodies of the other pirates Fett had dispatched in the access way. "You had no way to know I'd still be alive."

"The odds were in your favor."

"Most beings would not think so."

"I am not most beings."

"No, you're not, Boba Fett. You're definitely one of a kind. Even if you are a clone."

The words washed over him, meaningless. He knew she liked to use them as weapons, and he came prepared, hide toughened, senses sharp. This was her game, but he'd learned the rules, and he was playing to win this round. And all the rest to follow.

His helm sensors picked up activity ahead. Without thinking he held up a closed fist, hand signal for silence. She obeyed, giving up her military history with that one unconscious act. Beneath the visor he almost smiled. She was subtle, but he was observant.

He slid soundlessly down the ships ladder, and she followed suit.

At the bottom he stopped dead still. The voices of several pirates were clearly audible. They were up around the bend in the hall. Fett advanced to the corner and listened. He palmed a small, dull mirror and assessed the situation around the turn. He had a probe he could use, but the energy readout might be picked up and betray their position. Sometimes the old fashioned way was the best option.

Five moderately armored pirates, complete with a charged up E-Web repeating blaster and tripod were clustered around a sixth, who had a computer panel open and it's electronic guts hanging free. He had a large, modified data pad with couplings and jacks linking it into the station's network. All had headgear off, sidearms down.

From the discussion Fett learned they were attempting to override their own virus and reactivate the tractor beams and deflectors for the station. In addition, one wanted to access a passenger manifest.

They were three meters from the corner, and directly in front of the exit door. The E-Web could wreck an armored personnel carrier with one well placed blast. This was no time for leaving things to chance.

Fett removed two more C-22 grenades, timed, primed and loosed them on the pirates. He dove towards Eris, taking her to ground just as the grenades detonated. Shrapnel hit the far wall and ricocheted toward them. Distance and his body armor protected him well, and he in turn protected his prize. He had come too far to loose her now.

"Warn me next time your going to do that," she said when they stood. "I feel like I've been crunched by a Bantha."

He ignored her, raced to the corner and took it quick, laying out a field of fire that swept the hall. A few blasts hit the E-web and it erupted like a mini-thermal detonator. When the smoke cleared and the screams stopped, Fett gave the all clear.

Eris stepped around the corner, hot on his heels.

"This was no normal pirate boarding," she said as they passed the dead in the hall. She nudged a battered body of one with her toe. Half the head was gone. "That's Tari Jancar. He's former Imperial black opps. He's currently one of the highest paid mercenaries in the business."

"He was one of the highest paid mercenaries in the business." Fett checked the hall, then stepped out of the access passage. She was looking intently at was left of the others in the contingent.

"Let's go, Eris."

She knelt beside the body of Jancar and undid the breast plate. "Give me a minute."

"What are you doing?" He watched as she expertly accessed a hidden switch and popped a small hatch on the interior of the breast plate.

"Grave robbing." She removed a tiny cylinder that was stored in the secret compartment, and tucked it away in one of the many folds of her great cloak. "He won't need this anymore."

Fett made a mental note to interrogate her later on her intimate knowledge of black ops soldiers, and their personal secret storage chambers later, in the safety of the ship. "Ready?"

She nodded.

Rifle braced, he led the way to the auxiliary port air lock. Twelve dead pirates later, they stood outside the port, hidden behind several crates. Eris kept watch while Fett hammered code into his wristpad and summoned the Slave I.

"Too bad you trashed that E-Web, Fett. That kind of firepower would come in handy right now. There's twenty-two of them in their, doing some kind of freaky inventory on what looks to be stellar mine hardware. I don't think that kind of stuff came with the casino. Nor do I think this is the safest place of egress. Just incase your interested."

"I'm not." Fett finished the code. He snapped the cover unit in place. "This is the easiest and safest airlock for my ship to access under remote conditions. Don't worry. Those are just mine components. Unarmed, without pay loads."

"It's not the mines I'm worried about."

"We are leaving through that airlock. I don't care if half the Imperial army is in our way." He removed the last four grenades and started the activation sequence. "Get ready. These will go off in succession, on a three second delay. The grenades won't get them all. I will handle the rest. You just watch my back and stay alive. When I give the word, we move. No stopping for strip searches, understand?"

"Perfectly."

Fett stood, and let fly the last of the grenades. The port was roughly fifty meters in diameter. The pirates were spread throughout the room. This would even the odds.

He crouched while the explosions started, then immediately following the fourth blow out, leapt over the wall of crates, rifle blazing.

He was aware of Eris doing the same. She initially added her firepower in his direction, downing five men with precise blasts. Then she turned her back to his and fired long into the hall as several pirates came to check out the explosions.

Back to back they advanced into the port. The grenades had killed a handful and injured the remainder. The less injured had taken up positions and were returning fire, but it was wild, panicked and completely inaccurate. One by one they fell to Fett's superior shots. Inward he pushed, Eris at his back, until they'd reached the airlock and dispatched the pirates.

He hit the hatch switch and the airlock door swung open. The lock sealed and the ceiling hatch popped. The Slave's airlock corridor was mated and waiting.

He jumped in, and yanked Eris back onto the elevator platform beside him. Thrity-three seconds later they emerged in the Slave I.

"Strap yourself in." He pointed to a side seat. "This is going to get rough."

Fett charged to the cockpit, locked into the pilot's chair, fired up the main guns and broke away from the protected position. It was a short flight to the sector of space required for the jump to light speed. The fact that the sector he required currently housed several key ships in the pirate armada was the real challenge. He angled the deflectors and cleared the station.

The armada filled the blackness of space.

Cannon fire streaked through the distance, aimed at him.

It passed through space, close but never touching the Slave I as he guided the ship thorough a series of complex evasive maneuvers that took him closer to the enemy. He drove the ship through a slip of space between two battle cruisers, causing the fools in one to fire on the other.

This is too easy, he thought, pushing the engines to the limit and skimming just over the bulwark of the second cruiser in a zig zag pattern. As he flew he rained down heavy fire, ripping up the hull. A perverse part of him wanted to stay and finish the demolition work, but he had other business to attend to at the moment.

He pulled up from the damaged cruiser, and made the final preparations. Cannon fire trailed on either side of his ship.

_Amateurs._ No real challenge after all.

The very next instant the massive engines caught, and Slave I launched into the shadow corridors of hyperspace. There was a blur of light and then the comfort of the blackness of cold space that stretched between the stars.

Behind his visor, Fett smiled.

_Success._

_Disclaimer: the author has no rights or claims whatsoever to any of the SW universe characters or ideas, nor makes any claims or assertions as such._


	2. Chapter 2

Part of a series, 'The Edge of Infamy': tales of Boba Fett's early adventures building his name and making his bones in the trade.

Death Dealers Choice: Part II

Slave I ripped into hyperspace, going from crazy motion to blessed stillness.

Eris unbuckled the safety webbing and stood on shaky legs, trying to get her bearings. Space flight sucked. No two ways about it. And space flight sucked more with Boba Fett as your pilot. She took a tentative step and the lower cargo bay along with her guts did a wild swing. She sat down hard on the durasteel bench and put her head between her legs, breathing slow until the vertigo passed. It wasn't just the crazy driving that did her in. She'd taken a few solid hits back on the Nebula during the hand to hand portion of the pirate raid. She was pretty sure her blood loss did help her situation any. There were a few dicey moments back on the station, following Fett through the maze of winding access corridors she didn't think she'd make it on her own two feet. But she was smart enough to know that if she didn't keep going, the Nebula would be her tomb. Fett certainly wouldn't carry her out. And showing weakness was never an option.

She drew in a deep breath and summoned enough focus to pull out a small emergency med pack she'd taken from the bar of the Paradise Lounge. Her own ability to heal had helped slow the effects wounds, but there was the risk of infection, and the need to replace vital fluid and energy. The stimshot wouldn't help with her blood loss, but it would get her through what ever ordeal awaited her with Fett. If the last round of negotiations with the unpredictable mercenary were any indication of what was coming her way, she needed every shred of strength and cunning she could stitch together. He was a bit of a hot head on top of being deadly and devious, and, he wasn't a gracious looser.

She popped the pack, and went for the stimshot. The combination of healing agents and adrenaline would give her enough boost to keep going so she could patch herself up after their 'negotiations'. Providing she didn't end up a floater in deep space.

She removed an ornate gauntlet from her left arm, rolled up her sleeve, then paused as the vertigo struck again. When her world was right again, or as right as it could be under the circumstances, she pulled the top of the stimshot off with her teeth, and looked for a vein. The drug could be administered intramuscularly, but it would work faster and better with direct entry to the bloodstream. Her arm was clear where the gauntlet protected flesh, but the rest of her was a freaking mess. Her vision blurred, then dimmed, as she hit the activation button on the shot cylinder. Three potent meds mixed as one. She made a fist, located a vein, and sent the payload into her system.

She heard a loud buzzing in her ears, and felt her body go light, as if gravity and all its tedious laws no longer applied to her. She thought she heard footsteps, metal on metal, a grating, harsh sound. Her vision blackened, then cleared in a rapid, heated rush. She looked up into a nightmare, and swallowed hard. Boba Fett towered over her, legs braced wide, arms crossed, head and helm titled just the barest bit down, as if in disapproval. The outfit and the pose were both designed to cause fear. If his reputation kept going in the current direction, the combination would be lethal. Lucky for her, fear wasn't part of her make up anymore. Still, she was smart enough to recognize a tight spot and the need for caution.

Woozy from the stimshot, she was in no condition to stand, let alone face him off toe to toe with bluster. Considering he'd seemed pleased with his coup back on the Nebula, that avenue of attack wouldn't do her much good anyway. She resorted to the calm that seemed to get so far underneath his skin the last time they conducted business face to face.

She forced her body to relax, leaned back in a lazy manner against the bulkhead, and ignored the screaming pain the position caused. She noted the imperceptible tightening of his posture, the only visible sign of displeasure, or confusion. It was hard to figure where his gaze was in order to meet it, but she tipped her head back and up, estimating a point of intersect, picked a place to direct her stare. Then very slowly, she smiled. _Let the games begin. _

Boba Fett surveyed the wounds he could see on his latest acquisition. She had several serious injuries, and was covered in gore. He couldn't tell which blood belonged to her, and which to the pirates she killed. Her grey eyes were dilated from the stimshot she'd just administered, her black pupils unnaturally wide. She'd paled considerably since he first saw her. Her bioscan readouts showed elevated pulse and dropping arteriovenous pressure. He looked on the bulkhead and saw red smears. More wounds. If she died now, he would loose. If he helped her too soon, he'd tip his hand. "You're a mess."

The smile faltered. "And you look just wonderful. I particularly like the dried brain matter on the helm. It's a bold fashion statement, but it fits you."

Her voice was ice, and he suspected the same ran through her veins. "The maps to the underground are the first part of our negotiation."

"Renegotiation," she corrected.

"I want you to do background, and current time information on a series of beings. And I want you to keep up the watch, until I say otherwise." He pulled a small datapad from his cargo pocket, and handed it to her. "I want to know them as well as I know myself."

Her hand shook slightly as she took the pad. She set it down on her lap, then had a go at the list. There was no way for him to read her expression. Her pressure was dangerously low at the moment. She had an active bleed somewhere. If it was internal, they were both in trouble. There were no med stations nearby. He had to get fluids into her, and find the source of the blood loss.

She put the pad down on the seat beside her, and furrowed her brow. Her lips were tinged with blue. "I can do this, but it will take considerable time and resources. It's going to cost you a healthy amount of credits. More than what I wanted for the maps." She stopped to catch her breath. "That's more than you have."

He nodded. Everything she said was true. One day he'd be a major player, but right now, he was climbing out of obscurity. She'd provided him with information when he could afford it, but as he'd learned, she'd also connected him with several lucrative assignments, taking a substantial finders fee from the clients. Like a fast ship, or a ready weapon, information was vital to his survival, and to his success. His father held several information specialists on retainer, he planned to do the same. Starting with Eris. "You've become wealthy selling my services to your clients."

"You're a reliable product in that you get the job done, and you don't try to double cross anyone. A rare combination."

"I could say the same of you."

She narrowed her eyes. "You didn't pull me off the Nebula to compliment my work. Last time we got together, you were less than charitable."

"I've learned a bit since then. About you. About me. About this business in general."

Her breathing grew more labored. "The list. It's most of the heavies in the industry. You want the jump on the competition."

He nodded. "And you're going to help me. At a significantly reduced rate."

"I don't cut breaks. Sets a bad precedent."

"This isn't about breaks, Eris. We're going into a limited partnership. I want information, you will provide it. In addition, you will spread mis-information at my direction."

She laughed softly. "Wow. And I thought I was the one on the drugs. Why, Boba Fett? Why would I do this for you? Just because you pulled me off a space station under attack doesn't mean I owe you my life."

At the rate she was going, she would owe him her life, but he had learned from the last negotiation: some things were better left unsaid. She'd called him a hot head, and she was right. He needed better control, the lethal kind his father seemed to possess, the kind that could withstand any attack, the kind that could look in the face of death and spit in its eye. "I know what you're really up to Eristriel. I've put the pieces together of your fragmented life, and I know your endgame. You're not going to get there. You're good. Very good. But you're no hunter. I am. And I can help you reach your goal. If you help me reach mine."

She stilled, shut her eyes, drew in a ragged breath. Her hands curled into fists, and when she opened her eyes again, he saw a blinding flash of anger and pain melt the ice to liquid silver. Then, in the next instant it was gone. She was as always: cool, distant, unreadable. He smiled to himself. He'd won. In that one brief moment when her control snapped, he'd seen what he knew lurked beneath that placid façade. That primal anger required satisfaction, the pain needed relief.

He could understand this need of hers, the ache for justice twisted by the insatiable hunger for revenge. He could understand it, he could use it, he could satisfy it. There was no way she'd refuse when he offered her the one thing in the galaxy she wanted. There was no way she'd refuse, because she knew what he was and what he could accomplish. It was a good day, he decided. The first of many to come. "It's a sound offer. But limited time only. Your choice."

"My choice? No, I'm playing against the house right now, and the game is dealer's choice. That means you win." She picked up the datapad, and handed it to him. Then she leaned back again and looked off across the cargo hold, staring at nothing, seeing the internal landscape of past and future rolled into one. "You're shy about seven key beings on your list. They're in deep, the power behind some of the thrones. One of them is also keeping tabs on you, and not with the intention to invite you to tea. As to planting false information, that's my specialty. What do you have in mind?"

"Obscure my origin, to start."

She nodded. "Anything else?"

_Yes. Stay alive long enough to bring this about._ "I'm exclusive in my employ. Your loyalty is with me. Breach our agreement, you sign your death warrant."

"Exclusivity works against the nature of the information racket. But I'm inventive. I can pull it off. Long enough for you to get what you want, at least."

"And for you to get what you want."

"We can work out the details later." She shut her eyes again. Her skin was grey, her body temperature dropping. "Right now I'd like to sleep for a while."

She didn't sleep. She passed out. Fett scooped her up, carried her to one of the roomier cells, and set to work patching her up. He cleaned and treated wounds, administered synthblood, metabolites, and enough painkillers and sedatives to keep her down long enough to let the healing process take hold.

Once complete, he sat back, observed his work and considered his victory. Eris was younger than him by a handful of standard years, and an otherwise strong and healthy human female. The damage was extensive, but with his aid, and her own resiliency, she'd rally. She was no use to him dead, but alive, she was one more tool in his growing arsenal. Once he had the maps, he'd set off to secure the next tool: the sensor jamming array.

He considered his own situation. It was a either irony, or, destiny. He could be anything, anyone, except he could not. He was Jango Fett's son, his clone, his replacement in the galaxy. He was Boba Fett, and one day the scum that ran wild in the space lanes would know that name, and know a bone chilling, soul numbing fear. He looked down at himself, dressed the garb of the Mandalore, like Jango, but different. Blood covered his gloves, his armor, his jumpsuit. It wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last. He was Jango's replacement, but he would become more than his father's clone. He would surpass Jango, and the name Fett would live beyond them both in legend and infamy.

_Disclaimer: the author has no rights or claims whatsoever to any of the SW universe characters or ideas, nor makes any claims or assertions as such._


	3. Chapter 3

Bounty hunting was a complex, competitive, dangerous game. Rising to the top was no accident of fate, nor was it a birthright. Every moment spent pursuing excellence in the field was another taunt hurled towards death. There were better, more comfortable things a man could do to make his way through the galaxy.

Boba Fett reasoned he could become a freelance blaster for hire and never be more than a common, however highly paid, mercenary. He could easily secure a cushy future: play it safe working security gigs, serving low level warrants and chasing down white collar criminals, the kind with soft hands and softer bodies and no real imagination.

He considered that nebulous, simple future as he slipped an armed explosive charge unit into a crack in the ancient mortar of a bearing wall in the Drutha City underground. His sensors were on full alert, scanning for any sign of the plague mutants, the Yij. All biologists that bothered to study the remote planet held the cursed race to be extinct, but Eris warned otherwise when she finally handed over the precious single set of existing maps to the great maze. She heard it from the current chief cook in service to Gorga the Hutt. The cook worked previously in the service of two renegade Black Sun members: a pair of Falleen brothers who ran a high stakes, high security, roving gaming hell called The Wheel. The same gaming hell that his current prey attended when it came to this remote section of space. At first Fett was dubious, but the cook and Eris proved right, and the finest scientific intelligentsia, wrong on all counts. He'd killed twelve Yij so far, the last one yesterday. Since that time, the heinous creatures gave him a wide berth.

He armed another charge, and tucked it behind a brackish bulge of questionable organic matter growing on a narrow ledge. Though the mutants avoided him now, he wasn't foolish enough to let up guard. His vidfeed gave him full view of all that surrounded him, and his senses and awareness operated on many levels. He was ever ready for the fight, particularly in such dubious holdings. The underground passages were damp, and all manner of darkloving life evolved and thrived there, sliming the walls and the floors, skittering in the shadows, lurking, watching, waiting for the time to strike and make a tasty meal of him.

Fett tapped in a code on his wristpad, consulted the layout of this sector, and moved to his next target. He located the ancient access panel buried beneath a gelid mass of something that resembled a sticky black pudding. Fett used a small torch to burn the creature. It bubbled and oozed and fell to the floor a solid, charred hunk. The stench was enough to put ten good men down. Yes. Jobs funded by soft, paranoid business men in synthsilk suits had their own allure. But it was nothing compared to the thrill of the hunt. Even now, in this odious hell hole, he could feel the charge, the spark in his blood, the anticipation that brought every single nerve in his young body alive. He could hear his future call as he patiently went about the business of answering.

The activation panel was of clever design, appearing no different than the moldering stone of the walls and floors and ceilings of the underground. Only a resident, or a man with a map, could find them, and more importantly, use them to survive. An alarm rang out in his helm. He opened the panel and punched the buttons marked with arcane glyphs, following the exact sequence specified in Eris's instructions. Then he stepped back and hoped she didn't play him false.

A horrific grinding sound echoed through out the dark. In unison, the walls, floors and ceilings began to move, reshaping the underground and bringing certain death to the unwary. Fett stood ready but his part of floor remained intact and unmolested. A new wall presented itself, with a new panel. He repeated his previous steps, and it slid open, revealing a long, upward sloping passage with narrow, carved stairs.

He'd been at this task for five standard days, and at last the time was ripe. The charges were all in place. The escape route secured. The merchandise waited above, engaged in a high stakes sabbac game, unaware that the next round was dealer's choice, and anyone who objected, would get a hand full of death.

The passage led into the upper level of the underground, named once the grand concourse of the ill fated city. His sensors picked up the thrum of deep base drums and the synthetic sounds of electronically produced music. He laid a gloved hand along one wall and felt the pulse of life from above. The lure of gaming drew his prey from his secure, entrenched, protected location on Nar Shadda. The players here were allowed a contingent of but five security personnel. Of those five, only two were permitted in the game room. The prey was a seasoned gambler, in the habit of winning, but tonight, the odds were in favor of the hunter.

He ascended the treacherous flight of stairs, each step bringing him closer to the noise of excess and vice. He'd spent enough time in the company of criminals and the idle rich to picture the scene of debauched abandon that surely took place on the ancient grand concourse. Drutha City, a small industrial metropolis on a backwater planet, lay abandoned for eons after a mysterious plague struck down its residents and turned them into psychotic mutants with a taste for each other's flesh. Such places had reputations that kept most away, but that reputation and the isolation attracted the current visitors.

The Fallen brothers were on the outs with Black Sun, but in deep with several other cartels. In enough they could operate without too much trouble, providing they did it far from the normal venues of the cartels and their associates, but still out enough that they couldn't set up a permanent operation. The Wheel specialized in providing a few select high stakes gambling and unrestrained partying, catering to the most base and vile of desires: so long as the participants had the credits. Invitations were near impossible to score, the locations more closely guarded than the Emperor's throne. Tonight, Boba Fett would crash this exclusive party. Getting in wasn't that big a challenge. Getting out with the merchandise intact, there was the trick.

The owners of the Wheel thought the cursed city an entertaining and safe place to set up shop. Those who even knew of the city and the passages knew of the threat of plague, and nothing was a more effective deterrent than the risk of infection. Few if any knew enough of the network of deadly passages that grew beneath the city after the main plague to consider entering them. Which was just fine with Fett. It left his target vulnerable. Security would be focused on entry from above, with only cursory attention paid to the threat from below.

After many minutes spent climbing the endless set of stairs, he reached a blank wall. Using his purchased knowledge, he located another access panel, and entered another code. The wall he faced moved up enough for him to slip beneath.

He rolled fast up onto one knee and brought his sawed off blast rifle into position, at the same time taking in the full readout of the room fed to him by the sensors and cameras of his helm. The most interesting thing he encountered in the tiny square room was an unusually large pile of bones. He stood, examined the pile, and determined from the skulls that the skeletal remains belonged to several humans and a Bith. Beyond the bones was a rusty ladder of simple rebar, leading to a hatch. He climbed them, then considered the hatch. There appeared no locking mechanism, so he pushed, and to his surprise, it gave way with unnerving speed and silence. The Yij most likely used this to go top side. Per Eris, they would steal into the party when most were worn and drugged or intoxicated, pick off the easy targets on the outskirts of the gathering, drag them to a secluded spot and eat them while they still breathed. Fett had to admit securing her services were more than worth the trouble. She seemed to have an endless store of valuable information, one he would continue to exploit to his advantage.

In moments he'd boosted into the ventways that ran above the concourse. When he examined the hatch from this side, it appeared like so many of the concealed doorways: expertly engineered to appear as part of a passage. He removed a small marking device and tagged it with an infrared sensor. The last thing he needed was a search for safe passage during his exit.

The vents were spacious enough for a tall human to pass and Fett had decent head clearance. The upper part of the city was devoted to industry, the concourse, devoted to interaction of the residents. The surrounding planet was inhospitable. The vents allowed not only for circuitry, but for the large amounts of air exchange required for a dense population living underground. In it's time Drutha City was an engineering marvel. Now, it was a decaying temple to industry and a soon to be graveyard.

The noise of celebration and excess was clearer now. Fett moved with care, scanning for the silent alarm devices and sentries that would be placed in the easily accessed vents. The sponsors of the Wheel were smart enough to go that far. Not smart enough to get the plans to the underground, however, or brave enough to enter and scout and secure.

Fett found several light sensors and easily redirected them into a continuous loop. He had only thirteen standard minutes to find the location of the Sabbac game, secure the merchandise, and return to the passages. He moved fast, but as he grew closer to the heart of the party, the alarms became more elaborate and deactivation ate away at precious seconds.

He peered through several vents that looked down into rooms, finding nothing more than the usual scenes experienced at a drunken orgy. Precious minutes had passed when he finally reached his destination. Two burly humans bearing the marks of cybernetic enhancement stood chatting, sharing a smoke. Fett, as much a ghost in this darkness as the ancient race that once haunted the halls, raised his arm and discharged two hot-loaded darts. They struck the targets, feeling much like the sting of a small insect. The poison was fast acting, and dropped the men before they had time to shoot, or scream.

Boba Fett raced to the large vent grate and peered into the room. This was the antechamber to the gaming site. Fifteen mercs of all shapes, sizes and races packed it full. This would be the remainder of the private security forces, the ones not permitted to enter the gaming room. Tempers ran hot, and nerves frayed fast in those kinds of games, and too many hot headed nerf-herding barves with blasters looming around the edgy players tended to create more trouble than was good for business. Lucky for him. They were in one spot, making them an excellent target, and relatively easy to neutralize. Fett planted a remote grenade launcher, then filled it with flash bangs and glop grenades.

He moved on to the neighboring vent and looked down at the inner gaming chamber. Five beings sat around a table, with a Twi'lek dealer. His target was among the five, a human male, 1.2 meters tall, non-descript, soft in build and demeanor, utterly unimportant except for one detail: the chip implant in his head held vital information which he used to extort Fett's current employer. Though there was artistry to a hunt, there was a level of sudden brutality required to pull off a successful extrication from a public and hostile location.

The remainder of the security forces seemed no more gainfully occupied than the first group. Most of them lounged at a makeshift bar, making time with the whores employed to keep the party-goers entertained. The few bodyguards worthy of the title, and Fett recognized each and every one, stayed near their employers and paid attention to the details as opposed to the near naked females. All occupants required immobilization. He would have but seconds to secure the merchandise before alarm would sound, chase ensued, and the charges fired. And he needed the merchandise alive.

Fett warmed to the challenge. He brought up dual timing readouts on his helm's display. The first for the exit, the second, timed to the shift of the newly activated underground.

_T minus nine minutes and counting._

He pulled two Merr Sonn flash bangs grenades from his belt, armed them with a short fuse and tossed them through the wide vent. Two guards saw it coming, but by the time their blasters were clear to fire the grenades detonated. The grenades blew, blinding and stunning the occupants. At the same time, the remote launcher fired into the antechamber, further incapacitating response. Almost immediately, some of the preplanted charges resting deep below the rooms detonated. An ominous shudder worked through the ancient bones of the Drutha City concourse. Panic would follow, further aiding Fett's extrication.

With rapid precision he fed in the access code for the grate, opened the vent, and fired off a net canister. It was packed with a semi-permeable fabric net that would allow his merchandise to breath, but it was lined with a substance similar to the glop grenades, ensuring his prey had no chance of escape.

Fett used his grappling line to hook the net, braced his legs, and yanked his merchandise backwards and up through the grate. The man was starting to rouse, moaning in a mewling, annoying way. He tossed three short fused glops into the room, kicked the grate closed, shouldered the merchandise, and double timed it back the way he came.

He passed through a crossroads of vents, eluding the blaster fire that converged down upon him with his appearance. He didn't stop to count the security forces that charged his way. Once they were all in the same shaft he'd have a better ratio of kill to payload. Until then, any return fire was a waste of fuel cell energy and precious time. He did, however, pop several smoke grenades. Beneath him the passage shook as more of his preplanted charges went live, weakening the supporting infrastructure of the concourse.

_T minus seven minutes and counting._

When blaster fire raced past him, he stopped, and shot back into the black smoky haze at his pursuers with several highly armed rockets. The explosions ripped the vents into torrents of rock shrapnel. The resulting screams of agony didn't confirm kills, but did speak of reduced numbers.

The merchandise was coming round. He began to fight his bonds. The glop and the fabric net made the attempts futile, but the wiggling was bothersome. Fett turned hard against a wall, giving the merchandise a solid connect with an immovable object. The load relaxed, movement stopped. Bringing a bounty in alive didn't necessarily mean bringing one in uninjured.

A small rocket raced ahead of Fett and careened off the wall. Fett threw down the prize, dove to the floor, and thanked the ghost of his father for leaving him the spare suit of armor. Rockets were tough, so was shrapnel and blaster bolts, but mandmetal – mandmetal was made of sterner stuff. The explosion was deafening, the glare blinding despite the safety of his visor, but the impact to him and his prize, minimal at best.

He stood, switched to infrared display, and picked up the mark of his tag. He heard the sounds of more in pursuit. Blasts of laser fire lit the darkness. Fett popped his last smoke grenade, raced to the panel, kicked it open, and jumped down into the small room. He hit the ground hard, and dropped the merchandise. Then he pushed it through the small gap between raised wall and floor, and followed himself, low-crawling on his belly.

He shouldered his prey once more, and took the stairs at a breakneck pace.

_T minus five minutes and counting._

A loud explosion sounded from above and to the rear. Not one of his charges. A second explosion followed, and rock sprayed past him as he moved. His panoramic view confirmed what he suspected would happen. His pursuers had discovered the concealed room, and blown open the partially raised wall that hid the staircase. They were right on his six.

Adrenaline dumped like liquid rocket fuel into his bloodstream. He sprinted the distance to the end of the stairs, hit the access panel and broke out into the underground. He used an access panel code and moved as a wall shifted and opened into another tunnel. It didn't close, but he didn't worry.

_T minus four minutes._

The alarm sounded in his helm, signaling the upcoming change in passageways.

Fett hurled the prey the last few feet and jumped to the safety of the stable slab of floor as the walls began their strange dance. The laser fire ceased and screams filled the dark followed by the crunch of bone mashed beneath stone. The walls kept grinding, oblivious to the fleshy obstacles. Fett's escape passage opened, and he moved out. Mixed now with the sound of dying men in unimaginable pain came the distinct howl of attacking Yij. Ever opportunists, they stayed clear of Fett and went for an easier target.

_T minus three minutes._

He hit the speeder bike at a full run, draped the prey across the back, secured it, and fired up the bike.

The timing was impeccable. He raced death. He raced the curse of the underground. He raced the legend of Jango. He never felt more alive.

_T minus two minutes._

He gunned the engine and pushed the bike to the max. The walls shifted, he tilted enough to ease around a corner, then drove the bike up as another passage to the surface presented. The angle of ascent was far sharper than prudent for a speeder bike. Had he not modified the engines, stabilizers and thrusters, the thing would have stalled and given out. He coaxed the last vestiges of power out of the machine and the walls and darkness merged into a muted blur.

_T minus one minute._

Boba Fett hit the surface. The final explosions began. One by one they ripped through the craggy bearing walls that lay beneath the topside landing pad. In his helm display he watched as the ground collapsed into itself, taking ship after ship down into hell. The secondary explosions were nothing short of spectacular. The Falleens made a critical tactical error by corralling their response teams and security ships in one spot. It provided him with an excellent opportunity to minimize any ability to mount chase beyond planetary surface. And it didn't cause damage to any of the guest's ships,. Many were even now taking to the air as the party going elite sought escape from what appeared no more than simple seismic activity. Only a select few would know the real truth. The proliferation of ships would make ground fire from laser cannons unsafe, and further protect him from trouble.

Fett brought the bike to a screeching halt and summoned Slave I. He'd enhanced the remote features prior to this mission. The ship could hide further out, come faster when called, maneuver more despite the lack of resident pilot. The old police craft favored by his father and now him rose like a bird of prey above the horizon. Some of the topside forces were massing. Cannon fire burst to his left, sending up clumps of stone and earth. Fett hit another sequence of numbers and the Slave returned fire. It was inaccurate, meant only to provide enough cover for him to board, but it did the job.

Precious seconds ticked by. His merchandise remained unconscious and subdued. Fett readied his blast rifle in case the opposition reached him before the Slave, but the ship arrived in time for him to board and secure the package before the retaliation force came close enough to do any real damage.

The Slave's hull took several hits. Fett returned fire this time, choosing shots with accuracy, dealing death by choice. Let the scum witness the power, let them all know what sentinel awaited to bring justice and damnation, let them all live in fear that they would be next on his list.

"I'm a rich man. I can pay you. Anything you want. Credits. Spice. Women. Girls.

Boys. Name it, they're yours. Just let me go."

They all tried to broker a deal, he'd learned. They all tried to work an angle. On another hunter it often worked, but he was a different breed. "I don't make deals with the merchandise. I collect from my client."

That brought the merchandise up short. He squinted his beady little eyes and gripped the bars of his cell tighter. "I can be your client."

"No. You can't." Even if this putrid waste of flesh could produce a second sensor jamming array, it wouldn't matter. Fett's deal was with his employer, a well paid, highly placed project engineer working on a secret Imperial contract in the Kuat Drive Yards. The payment of such a device as opposed to credits for this particular job would enable him to enter and exit planets unbeknownst to even the most sophisticated of sensors. Another tool in the arsenal. An excellent deal, one he brokered himself, without the aide of a middle man. He smiled at the memory of the negotiations. He suspected even the discerning Eris would be impressed.

"What do you want? Just tell me."

_I want you to shut up._ Fett crossed his arms and studied the prey for a long, silent moment.

"Please," it whispered, panic stealing power from the voice. "There must be something."

Fett shook his head. "I'm going to hand you over to Dieter. Dieter will pay me what I'm owed. Then I'll move on. That's what I want."

"Dieter?" The merchandise paled. He blinked hard, tears rolled down his death pale cheeks. Then it fell to its knees. "No. Please. Mercy. Not Dieter. Anyone but him. Who ever you are, I beg you…"

Despite his disgust, Fett came close to the cell and looked down upon the pathetic creature. "I am Boba Fett. I hunt prey. I do not dispense mercy."

Then he stalked away, leaving the hard merchandise to wallow in its own fear and misery while it contemplated the fate to come.

Back in the cockpit, Boba Fett removed his helm and drew in a deep breath of cool air. He sat down, leaned back in his chair, and stared out at the comforting darkness of deep space. The images of the vile pit of vice that was The Wheel were burned into his brain, and he doubted he'd forget them anytime soon. Nor would he forget the victory wrung from Eristriel, or the terms of their dangerous contract he would soon fulfill.

So many beings wanted for justice.

So many more wanted for vengeance.

He could profit from both.


End file.
